


Bright Lights

by killjxy



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:07:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjxy/pseuds/killjxy
Summary: A blizzard hits Florida the same week George comes to visit. Now snowed in, the pair have to deal with the cold as well as rising tensions.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	1. One

12:55 am

The crickets were especially loud tonight. It had rained that day, meaning all Clay could smell was wet concrete and gasoline, a hint of the plant-life peeking through to his nostrils. The humid air made his tee-shirt stick to his sides, causing him to fidget every few minutes to peel the fabric away from his skin. The fact that he was on his roof didn’t help the heat. His room was on the second story with a window leading out onto the scaffolding.

He didn’t come out here often, only on nights where he needed to clear his head and get away from everything. Even though his house was empty, aside from his beloved cat, he found the walls suffocating when his thoughts ran wild. This allowed him peace: it let him rummage through his thoughts the same way he would his closet. He could rid himself of whatever didn’t benefit him and try to focus on that which had value. He had a ritual to follow anytime the desire would hit him. He would change into shorts, a shirt he didn’t care too much about, and old sneakers. He would spray himself down with as much bug spray as he could stand and discard his cellphone on his desk. The first couple of nights he would bring his phone with him, telling himself he needed it in case something serious happened. As a result, he’d end up scrolling through his Twitter timeline instead of clearing his head.

Looking out, Clay could see the compact buildings that surrounded his home. Green hedges and tan fences separated him from his neighbors. Every house looked roughly the same: russet roofs against a light brick exterior. He lived in a suburb fairly close to the city, so usually when he looked at the sky the light pollution would be enough to hide away the stars. Not tonight. Tonight, the sky was white thread passing through black and blue linen. The frontmost stars cast a glow to the space around them, almost twinkling. The moon was obstructed by feathery, passing clouds; letting the brilliance of the stars take over his field of vision. He couldn’t bring himself to appreciate it.

Clay let his thoughts wander. He was picking up George from the airport in the morning, yet here he was: sulking. He should have been excited, as his loneliness had become almost unmanageable. The British boy had been his best friend for years despite the fact that they had never met before. They spoke every day without fail… they knew practically everything about each other. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing; like there was a blank space inside him begging to be occupied. He lacked connection. _Real, raw, connection._ He missed the feeling of not only sharing everything _about_ your life with someone but sharing the life itself. He missed the feeling of having someone to kiss, touch, feel. He missed talking about the future with someone who wanted theirs to include you.

He let out a sigh, interlocking his fingers and resting his head atop his hands. He tried to do one of those breathing exercises he had looked up after a particularly bad panic attack one night. He had been reminiscing on his past relationships, picking them apart to find out what he did wrong. He wanted to know just how badly he ruined them. Maybe it was his emotions that pushed people away? Or was it his lack of them? Was it his reluctance to show his affections without the cover of irony? He never managed to figure it out. All his self-reflection led to him drowning on land on his kitchen floor.

_In through the nose: one, two, three, four, five._

_Out through the mouth: six, seven, eight, nine, ten._

_Absolutely fucking useless,_ he thought.

That’s when he saw it. A meteor, traveling across the expanse above him, nothing more than a dot in his eyes. He took a breath before speaking, “I wish I wasn’t so lonely.” He practically gagged at his own words almost immediately after he said them. _Get a fucking grip, dude._ At that, he pushed himself onto his feet, and climbed back into his window. He checked his phone seeing that it was now past two in the morning. He had to wake up at eight.

_“_ Fuck me.”

He changed out of his sweat-drenched clothes and climbed into bed, setting his alarm for the next day. As he drifted off to sleep, he filled his head with thoughts of George, trying to force his own excitement. It made him feel even guiltier than usual. Too focused on his self-pity, he didn’t notice the sudden chill that made its way into his room.

9:06 am

Clay was tapping his fingers on his steering wheel when he pulled up outside the airport. George was just getting off the plane, waiting at baggage claim. He parked and went inside, looking at the signs to navigate to the right area. As he walked, he took it upon himself to smooth down his hoodie. He batted away any left-over cat hair that was still stuck to him from laying down with Patches.

George was carrying a backpack and swaying back and forth in front of the carousel of bags, a look of concentration etched into his eyebrows. He donned a dark blue sweater, contrasting the paleness of his skin. Clay noticed the way it scooped just below his collarbones and revealed the moles that dotted his chest. It reminded him of the stars he observed the night before. He felt a warmth bloom inside him, excited at seeing his best friend for the first time. If there was a feeling he expected, it wasn’t this. His heart struck his chest, pounded against his rib cage, over and over and over. Relentlessly, it shook him. He swore if he approached George now, he would hear the blood rushing in his ears and through his veins; he’d be able to tell how nervous he was, how _surprised_ he was at his nervousness. George would hear the beating of his heart like it was his own. He was sure of it.

George hadn’t noticed him yet but, how could he? He still had no idea what the man looked like, and they had agreed that Clay would find him on his own. So, he walked over to him, positioning himself at his side, and looked down. George raised his head to meet his eyes, his mouth slightly agape. Clay smiled.

“Hi.” His voice was breathy, almost silent.

“Dream?” George’s mouth stretched into a wide grin.

Clay’s heart soared. He nodded at the man before him and opened his arms. George wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, digging his head into his chest. Clay didn’t know why, but he loved the way he could wrap himself fully around him. He put his hand in George’s hair, combing through it as the other seemed to have no plans of letting go. Clay didn’t really mind, although he started to feel an ache deep in his chest. That was enough to make himself pull away and smile at George before stepping back. He noticed the light dusting of pink across his cheeks. George was back to focusing on getting his bag and Clay was desperate to break the silence. He wasn’t going to let the first time they met be awkward.

“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be,” Clay started, his mouth curling into a half smile.

George scoffed. “How can I be shorter than you thought I’d be, I’ve told you how tall I am.”

“You mean you’ve told me how tall you _aren’t_.” Clay leaned forward as he spoke as if to show off how he towered over him.

“Hilarious. I’m actually average y’know. You’re the freakshow.”

Clay smiled. _There’s that attitude._ “Fine, fine you’re right. Do you see your bag yet?”

“Umm…” George got onto his tippy toes as he tried to see above the crowd in front of him. Clay restrained himself from making another short comment. “Yes! I see it, it’s back there.” He pointed to a navy duffle bag on the carousel. Clay made his way through the crowd, seizing the bag and going back to George.

“Let’s go.”

10:02 am

After George had gotten settled into the guest room, he was quick to go back to sleep, leaving Clay to his own devices. He laid on top of his duvet, feet hanging off the edge of the mattress. Staring at the ceiling, he counted how many dips in the paint he could find. He let out a sigh, allowing himself to sink into the bed. All he wanted to do was relax. After a lot of driving and hauling and not much sleep he felt his eyelids get heavy.

His phone started to vibrate. He picked it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID before answering.

“Hello.”

“DREAM!” Nick’s voice boomed through the speaker; Clay opted to hold his phone slightly further from his ear for the duration of the call.

“Sapnap…”

“Did you pick George up from the airport yet?” Clay could hear the excitement in his voice.

“Yeah, he’s sleeping right now,” he said, turning his head to the side as if he’d be able to see George’s resting form through the wall.

“Oh, that sucks. I thought you guys were gonna, like, spend the whole day together.”

“Nah, he’s tired. I’ll probably get us something for dinner though.” He started thinking of all his favorite places, making a mental note to ask George if he’d rather get takeout or eat at home.

“Oooh good idea,” Clay rolled his eyes at Nick’s obvious excitement, “You guys can have a little date.”

Clay felt a heat rising up his neck. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re overcompensating by pretending you’re disgusted,” Nick shot back.

“Whatever, I know you’re just jealous you couldn’t come.” His words are met with silence. Clay regrets it instantly. “Hey, I’m just kidding man, I really wish you were here.”

“Yeah.” Clay hears the sound of Nick’s breath hitting the mic. “But I’ve seen you like a million times and this is the first time you guys have gotten to hang out, I’ll live.” His voice was undeniably tense.

“You haven’t met George before either,” Clay softens his voice.

“I know,” he takes another breath, “You guys are a lot closer these days.” He doesn’t sound angry, just sad.

“I don—”

“It’s fine! You guys probably need the quality time more than I do.”

“ _Nick,_ plea—” His words are met with the disconnect tone. Clay drops his phone on the mattress and brushes his hands over his face, massaging them into his eyes. He was still tired, desperately tired, and that conversation only made him want to go back to bed. Deciding he didn’t want his sleep schedule to be any more fucked than it already was, he decides to get up and work on a video he was supposed to edit weeks ago. It was another ‘Minecraft but…’ video with him and George. He spent the next two hours cowered over his desk; his shoulders hunched in a way that couldn’t possibly be good for his back.

He was close to finishing up the final touches. As he stretched his arms over his head, back arched and stomach exposed, his door opened fully. His eyes met George, who seemed to scan over his shirt before looking up at him, then anywhere but him.

“Sorry, I just figured you’d want to have lunch or something.”

Clay noticed the way his feet shuffled, the way he swayed in place. _Why is he acting so weird?_ He checked the time on his computer.

12:39 pm

“Yeah, that sounds good. Did you want to eat here?” Clay got up from his seat and made his way to George, who kept his eyes firmly on the ground.

“Um, yeah, I don’t really feel like going anywhere.”

He was stood in front of the shorter boy now, trying to get him to look at him. He still seemed tired, but there was something else. Something hidden. “Hey,” Clay said, firm.

“Hm?” George finally lifted his head and met Clay’s eyes. Clay froze. He could count the freckles on his nose. _George has freckles?_

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” George played with the sleeves of his sweater.

“You seem…” Clay started but was unable to finish. George’s gaze was intense. Now it was his turn to take in his surroundings.

“I seem what?” George’s voice snapped him back to face him, and this time George forced his eyes to meet Clay’s.

“Nervous,” Clay nearly whispered. He surprised himself at the softness of his own voice.

“Well, I’m not. I just,” he looked at the wall before continuing, “It’s weird, finally seeing you.”

“What’s weird?” Clay came closer, trying to let his presence comfort the older man. It seemed to do the opposite. As they stood in the doorway, George between the frame and Clay just beyond it, he faltered.

“You just,” Clay watched as George fumbled his words, “I—It’s a lot, okay?”

“Do you… not want to eat lunch together?” Clay scrunched his eyebrows.

“Oh my _god,_ not like that.” George half laughed as he ran his hand through his hair. Clay liked the way it curled just at the ends. “I still want to hang out with you, I’m just saying it’s not the same as being online. So, I’m gonna be a bit awkward, and you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Clay smiled, relieved his discomfort wasn’t anything serious. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Good. Can we please eat now?”

“Of course,” Clay walked out the door, ignoring the way his hand brushed George’s and how much he wanted it to happen again, “What do you want to order?”

1:28pm

George ended up calling into some Mexican place, getting burritos for the both of them. They sat on opposite ends of Clay’s couch as they devoured their food in front of the television. Clay hadn’t had breakfast, and George had been living off of airplane food for nearly twenty hours at this point. Conversation could wait, they needed this.

As they continued to rip into their respective meals, a blaring alarm came from the TV and a message played across the screen.

URGENT. WINTER WEATHER MESSAGE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE ORLANDO, FLORIDA.

A COASTAL STORM WILL BRING THE POTENTIAL FOR HEAVY SNOW…STRONG WINDS AND DANGEROUSLY COLD WIND CHILLS FRIDAY EVENING THROUGH SATURDAY AFTERNOON…REMAIN INDOORS UNLESS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY

The rest of the warning played out, detailing hazards and reminding people to keep off the roads.

“What the fuck,” Clay commented after swallowing his bite.

“When’s the last time you got snow in Florida,” George spoke as he continued to eat, unbothered.

“Uh, never.” Clay put his plate down onto the coffee table. “It’s probably nothing, I doubt it’ll even stick to the ground.” He curled himself back up onto the couch.

“I don’t know, it sounds kind of serious,” George said, shrugging his shoulders.

“George, it’s Florida.”

“Uh-huh. And according to actual scientists, it will snow. A lot.” He got up to throw away his plate, grabbing Clay’s as he made his way to the trash.

Clay stretched and laid his head against the back of the couch, weaving his fingers behind his neck. He pushed himself back until he could see George’s upside-down figure pushing down the mountain of plates, napkins, and takeout into a plastic trash bag. “Looks like you’re stuck with me then.”

He looked up, smiling slightly, bits of his hair scattered across his forehead and dipping into his eyes. “I suppose.”

Clay watched as George took the trash out the door. He switched the TV to Netflix, mindlessly scrolling until his friend would come back to join him. As he went back and forth between categories, he heard the closing of the door. Muted footsteps lead up his stairs. _I guess he didn’t want to watch anything,_ Clay thought bitterly. He bit at his nails and stared ahead, letting his eyes blur and unblur to the various title cards on his screen. He knew he shouldn’t be angry. His friend had a long day. He came down to eat with him, he was still tired, so he went back upstairs. At least that’s what Clay was going to tell himself. With George no longer occupying half the space on the couch, he stretched his body across it and put on a show. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

8:51 pm

Clay felt hands on his shoulders, pushing and pulling. They were gentle but urgent.

“ _Dream!”_

Clay awoke, sitting upright. He saw George standing above him, excitement taking over his features. “George?” He rubbed his eyes.

“Dream! It’s snowing.”

“ _What?_ ” His voice was hoarse and low, his vocal cords rough from lack of use.

“It. Is. _Snowing,”_ George beamed.

“Bullshit.” He got up from the couch immediately, sprinting to the door. He pressed his face against the glass. The cold chilled his cheek as he looked out.

“What the fuck,” he whispered.

Flurries poured down from the sky, the ground covered in sprinkles of white. George pushed past him, walking out of the door. He clambered across the lawn, donning only a hoodie and pajama pants. He reached his arms out and faced upwards, opening his mouth to catch the snowflakes as they floated down. Redness covered the center of his face, giving him the appearance of blush across his nose. Clay’s mouth was agape as he looked out. His car window was already coated in the stuff.

“Come on!” Clay was tugged outside with George. He looked up. The snow found a home in his eyelashes and crept down the back of his neck. “Isn’t it beautiful,” George spoke, soft like the snow that covered him. Clay looked over at George, who stood enraptured by the blizzard. He glowed under the night sky, illuminated by the moon and the stars. His head was craned back, a childlike wonder emanating from him. Clay was spellbound.


	2. Chapter 2

10:07 am

When Clay kicked off his blankets the next morning, he was met with an immediate chill down his spine. It was unbearably cold, and as a resident of Florida, that was not something he was used to. He fought the urge to curl back up under the covers, to find solace in his residual body heat spread on his bed and flicked on the lamp next to him. Or he tried to.

He pulled on the string. Once. Twice. Three times. The light was not turning on.

“ _Fuck me.”_

In the night, the power had gone out. It made sense. Southern infrastructure was not built for a snowstorm. He pulled a thick blanket off of his bed and tugged it around his shoulders, letting the fabric meet his mid-calf as he walked down the stairs in his cape-like contraption. He immediately regretted his decision to not put on socks as his feet met the cold wood of the stairs. The living room was empty, meaning George was probably still in bed, blissfully unaware of the biting cold that awaited him. Clay shivered as he scooched his way into the kitchen, his joints becoming stiff. He started brewing coffee, anxiously waiting for it to finish. He shifted from his heels to his toes, hoping the slight movement would soothe him.

Once his coffee was in his mug, mixed with adequate creamer, he drifted into the living room and curled up onto the couch. Although, his version of curling into the couch was just shifting his knees to the side and tucking his feet into the armrest. God, being tall was so inconvenient sometimes. After settling on a show to watch he made a cocoon for himself in the blankets and, slowly but surely, he began to feel his muscles relax and warmth cover him.

1:42 pm

“Dream.” Clay cocked his head, seeing George coming down the stairs. He did _not_ look happy. “Why the _fuck_ is it so cold in here?”

George’s eyes were almost shut. Clearly, he was not intending to get up this early, presumably woken up by the cold. His hair was unruly, a mark of his sudden emergence. Clay’s eyes fell to the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The covering pooled at his feet. He smiled at the sight.

“The air conditioning went out, meaning…” George braced for impact, “We have no heat.” Clay did a sort of half-smile half grimace at George, a look that he hoped would communicate his sympathy.

“God damn it.” George plopped himself down onto the sofa, residing on the opposite corner of Clay. He perked up suddenly, sniffing the air. “Is that coffee?” His eyes lit up, looking over at Clay.

“Yeah, let me get you some.” George gave him a smile, and Clay got up to make his cup. As he shuffled through his cabinets, he spoke, “Blue hot air balloon mug or…” he shuffled some more, “… white and black polka dot mug?”

George turned around to observe him from the couch. “Hot air balloon, please.”

Clay pulled it out and filled the mug, adding some sugar and milk, as he saw George make it the day before. With his coffee in hand, he slowly made his way back to the couch, handing George the mug and returning to his cocoon in the corner of his own cushion, George muttering a quick ‘thank you’. They sat in silence for a while, both drinking their coffee and being careful to keep their bodies surrounded by blankets. Every now and then Clay’s feet would slip out under the covers, sending a jolt through him before he would fix them. He had made the decision to go back upstairs earlier and put on some comfortable socks, a decision he was now grateful for.

“So,” George started, setting his mug on the coffee table in front of them, “What are we gonna do?” He turned his body so that his back was against the armrest, his blanket still secure over his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Clay continued to sip on his coffee.

George rolled his eyes. “I mean, its freezing in here.”

“Wow, good observation.”

“You’re such an idiot.” George turned his head away in frustration.

Clay sighed. “Listen. I don’t have a fireplace, because why the fuck would I? I don’t have any portable heaters. I would go and buy one, but the roads are frozen. It’s not like we have salt trucks or anything like that here,” he pulled his blanket tighter around him, “My car isn’t made to drive on the snow. What exactly are you expecting me to do?”

George stopped and Clay could see the movement of his jaw, the way it slid as he ground his teeth. He locked eyes with Clay, brow furrowed. “Whatever.”

“Why are you giving me shit?” Clay asked angrily, the cold getting to him.

“I’m not giving you shit, I’m just — _UGH! —_ I’m just cold,” George responded, moving his body to curl into the cushion, his back to the rest of the living room. As he moved, his legs spread out slightly, his feet hitting the edge of Clay’s thigh.

Clay looked down to George’s form, his close proximity, acutely aware of the heat that came from him. “Do you not think I’m freezing my ass off right now?” Clay attempted to sound lighthearted as he spoke, laughing through his words, wanting to dissipate some of the tension that had formed around their conversation. George continued to get comfortable, adjusting under the covers as he closed his eyes.

“You can’t just sleep all day, George.”

He huffed. “Watch me.”

Clay laughed at his friend’s stubbornness. “Why don’t we do something?”

“Like what?” George’s words were muffled by the cushion, his face firmly planted into the side of the couch.

“We could…” Clay looked around his house, trying to find an activity that wouldn’t require them to go outside. He looked behind the couch, eyes falling on the kitchen. “Oh! Let’s make hot chocolate.”

“Dream, I am not leaving these blankets.” George brought his head up to stare at Clay, his eyes squinted in annoyance.

“Oh, _come on_ ,” he pushed at the other boy’s legs, shaking him back and forth while George attempted to swat him away. “It’ll be fun. Go put on a sweater or something and we’ll make it.” He smiled down at him, trying to be as tempting as he could.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“You love me.”

George scoffed in response and while he tried to make it seem like it was the last thing he wanted to do, he got up almost immediately and began walking up the stairs to his room. Clay quickly followed. He put a hoodie on over his t-shirt and slipped on some tennis shoes, as his socks did little to protect him from the cold floor. When he went back down to the kitchen, George was still upstairs. He got out the ingredients and began boiling some milk on the gas stove, adding some heavy cream. As the milk began to boil, he placed another pan on the other end. It was already afternoon and he still hadn’t eaten anything. When he started scrambling eggs, he heard light footsteps on the stairs. He looked back to see George, clad in a hoodie and a jacket in addition to some black sweatpants.

“You look cozy,” Clay smiled at him.

“I am, thanks.” George walked to Clay’s side, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie. “You’re making eggs?”

“Yeah, I figured you’d be hungry.” He moved the eggs around with a spatula, gently scraping them off the bottom of the pan as he cooked.

“Oh… thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.” He laughed at George’s new, shy demeanor. “You can start putting in the stuff if you want.”

They stood mostly in silence as they completed their respective tasks. George put in the cocoa and sugar without much regard for measurements, stirring them together and tasting the mixture every so often. Clay was hyper-aware of the way they kept bumping against each other, muttering a quick ‘sorry’ the first few times it happened. After a while though, they just stopped saying it. Clay would go past George to grab some salt or pepper, brushing against his back, ignoring the heat he felt in his stomach. George would move around, seemingly unaware of Clay’s presence when they’d bump shoulders, or his hand would brush against the other's arm. Once they were done, they set their hot chocolate on the table by their unfinished coffees, their eggs on paper plates on their laps.

4:05 pm

  
“This is actually really good,” George said through a mouthful of eggs, plate almost fully cleaned.

“Thanks, I try.” Clay turned to look at George. He appreciated his change in mood. Clearly, he was getting used to the cold. He still had a red cast over his features, most prominent on his nose and cheeks.

“Have you checked the weather?” George sat his plate down and pulled his legs back up onto the couch. Clay pulled out his phone, opening the weather app to see the forecast for the next few days.

Clay ran a hand through his hair as he saw the consistent snowfall stretching out over the week. “It’s not looking good.”

“Let me see,” George said, moving over next to Clay. He didn’t have to be this close, did he? His shoulder was flush against Clay’s, his head was turned to the boy’s phone. His breath tickled against Clay’s throat. A shudder ran through Clay’s body. A near-immediate blush covered his face. _God, why is it so warm in here?_

“Ughhh,” George groaned, snapping Clay out of his trance. He was still close. Very close. He was still observing the forecast, almost like he was waiting for it to change. Clay turned his head cautiously, looking down at the side of George’s face. He could rest his chin on his head if he really wanted to. It was right there. It would be _so easy_. So easy to just move a little to his left. He could probably say it was an accident, maybe. Or maybe George wouldn’t mind at all. Maybe he’d like it. _That would be too obvious_ , Clay decided.

_I just want to be closer to him._

_It’s cold._

_Body heat’s like the number one way to remedy that, right?_

_It wouldn’t be weird if I put my arm around him, right?_

_No, no. NO!_

_It would be._

_He would hate it._

_He’d pretend he didn’t, just to be polite, but he would._

_He’s probably sick of me. Sick of this house. I can’t push him. I won’t._

Clay looked at George’s hair. _So soft._ He loved — no, not loved, just _really_ liked — his hair.

_I can pat his head, right?_

_Make it seem like a joke? Like some platonic joke._

_Because it is._

_It IS platonic._

_I’ve been lonely. It makes sense that I’d want a little human contact._

_It’s not weird._

_Maybe I could even run my hand through it. Just for a second._

_Please God,_

_just for a second._

Clay took a breath. He lifted his arm, careful to be slow in his movement. He didn’t want George to move away before he could do it. He brought his hand to the back of George’s head, finally, and brushed his fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck, deliberately combing through to the middle of his head. George nearly froze. It was already too late. He wouldn’t stop now. He let his fingers weave through the strands. They were just as soft as he thought they would be. He lightly pulled on the hair, teetering dangerously between combing and massaging. A sharp breath came from George.

Clay’s voice was low as he spoke, rumbling through his chest, “You okay?”

“ _Mmhmm_.” Clay took note of the way George’s expression died in his throat, the way it came out high pitched. He couldn’t help but fixate on the way he was affecting him. Clay was more than happy George couldn’t see his expression right now; the unapologetic grin he now wore. He didn’t know why he was enjoying this so much, but he knew he didn’t want to stop. Clay slotted his fingers through the locks again, and this time there was no doubt in what he did. He pulled.

“ _Mmm…_ ” George’s eyes immediately closed, like a marionette attached to the younger man’s fingers. “ _Clay…”_

Clay could have died right there. The way his name, his _real_ name, tumbled from George’s lips was like a prayer. It was a wave that crashed right onto him, drowning him in it. There was an echo in his mind, hearing his own name on repeat like some sick narcissist. It was heaven.

“Yes, Georgie?” Clay spoke confidently now, still low and deep, but this time it was methodical. He didn’t know quite what he was doing, but he knew it was working. Working to what goal? He couldn’t tell you.

“Feels—” Clay pulled again, this time the heel of his hand rested on his neck, “ _Ah_ — feels nice.”

“Does it?” Clay was taunting him now. His lips were moving closer to George’s ear. He wanted him to hear nothing but his voice, the same way Clay could focus on nothing but his.

“ _Yeah_.” Clay continued to card his fingers through his hair, lightly tugging at the ends.

_I could do this forever._

George, apparently, did not feel the same way.

Abruptly, George pulled away, getting up onto his feet; making sure to secure his blanket over himself. “Okay, well I’m gonna go upstairs. I’ll see you for dinner, hm?” George didn’t wait for a response as he gave a tense smile and made his way to his room.

Clay was stunned to silence, still reeling from the interaction even after George had shut his bedroom door. The warmth in his stomach was quickly replaced by biting cold; a feeling of regret, or at least something close to it because Clay knew he would do it again in a heartbeat. Even now, dealing with the consequences which seemed to be making George want to get as far away from him as possible.

_He liked it though, didn’t he? He would have asked me to stop if he didn’t. He was practically MOANING for fuck’s sake._

Although Clay was valiant in his efforts to try and comfort himself through logic, it was a losing battle. Already, he felt sick to his stomach. He had made his friend uncomfortable in a house he was trapped in. But he had asked about dinner, so maybe that was a good sign? Either way, he wanted nothing more than to claw off his skin. He decided he would apologize at dinner.

_Or would that just make him more uncomfortable? Maybe he just wants to ignore it._

Clay settled on that. George wasn’t the type to want to ‘talk things out’. He would leave it alone, and if George said anything, _then_ he would apologize. No problem.

7:12 pm

George did not come down for dinner. Clay had received a text ten minutes prior that George wasn’t hungry and ‘just wanted to chill for a while'. So, there he was, sat alone at the dining room table, slurping down buttered noodles because that was all he could bring himself to make. Even more depressing was the fact that the downstairs was almost completely dark now, save for the lone candle across from him, as the power still hadn’t returned. The candlelight formed a small circle on the table, the flame flickering back and forth. It danced across his knuckles as he silently ate, stewing in his thoughts of George.

10:56 pm

Clay was in his room, desperate to sleep after the events of the day left him drained. The swirling in his brain hadn’t stopped, but it quieted a little, giving him some peace. He couldn’t stop himself from replaying his hands running through George’s hair. The noises, oh _god_ the noises. The way he sank into his touch, the way he breathed out his name. It was intoxicating. Clay felt a heat build low in his stomach and immediately he tried to push the memory away. He would not succumb to the feeling. No matter how tempting it might be. It would be so easy to run wild in his fantasies, let his hands travel as he focused on nothing but George. But he wouldn’t. It was a step too far, a step that Clay wasn’t even sure he actually wanted to take. It would be fully acknowledging what has become of him and more than that it would be a betrayal to George’s trust. He was one room over, probably fast asleep and the thought of indulging himself as his friend had come to visit him disgusted Clay. Especially when that indulgence involved George.

His phone vibrated against his side table, pulling him from his mental back-and-forth. It was George.

**_Can you come to my room?_ **

Clay had to read the text over twice to make sure what he saw was actually there. He wanted him in his room? After what he did?

_Is he going to tell me he wants to leave? But, how would he? Maybe he just wants to yell at me? Or maybe… no. Definitely not that._

Clay got out of his bed, not bothering to wrap a blanket around himself as he was headed straight for his friend. When he got to his bedroom door, he knocked.

“Come in.”

Clay opened the door to see George, shivering under his blankets. It had gotten a lot colder since the sun went down. There was no way the house’s temperature was above forty degrees.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Clay stood cautiously by the door, still reeling from how he crossed George’s boundaries. He wanted to stay as far away as possible until George told him otherwise.

“C-Can you come here? Please.” A flood of relief washed over him. Clay walked to the right side of George’s bed, sitting with his legs off the side.

“What’s wrong George? Why’d you call me in here?”

George looked embarrassed by the question. He was shaking, his teeth chattered as he spoke. Clay felt bad for him.

“Would y-you mind staying th-the night in here?” George looked away from Clay when he said the words. Clay’s eyes immediately widened. “S’fine if you d-don’t, but I’m just r-really cold. I c-can’t sleep a-at all.”

“No, it’s f-fine, I get it.” Clay was starting to become affected by the cold too. He stayed pretty warm most of the time, but now, sitting on top of George’s bed in thin sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee, he was desperate for warmth. “Can I…” he motioned to the blankets on George’s bed.

“Yeah.”

He pulled the blanket up, which made George wince as even more cold air rushed in. Clay situated himself beside George, awkwardly laying on his back, the blanket reaching just below his chin. A few minutes passed like this: George still shivering and Clay staring at the ceiling, unsure what to do with himself.

“You can g-get c-closer if you want.” George kept his face straight forward. Clay turned himself to look at him. It was dark. All he could make out was the silhouette of him. Clay wanted nothing more than for the power to turn back on because he was sure if there was light he would see a blush over George’s face. George continued when Clay didn’t respond, “I’m s-still really c-cold.”

Clay moved closer, still laying on his back. When he was shoulder to shoulder with George, he leaned over.

“Come here.”

Immediately, George moved over to him and settled his head onto Clay’s shoulder. “Is that better?” Clay asked. Silently, what he really wanted to say was: ‘ _Are you sure this is okay?’_

“Y-yeah. Thanks.” George was quiet. Both of them were whispering although they couldn’t say why. Something about the darkness makes everything feel like a secret.

Clay moved his arm to George’s back, knowing if George said anything, he could just say he was trying to get warmer. But, thankfully, George said nothing. He just curled into Clay even more, his arm spanning over his torso. George drifted to sleep soon after that. And once the shivering finally stopped, and Clay could feel the slow movements of his chest, and the light breath on his throat, he drifted too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy, now we're cookin'. Anyways, sorry this took longer to update than I thought it would, I'm trying to write about 3,000 words per chapter and my dumbass decided to start writing fanfiction right before my midterms. But I'm mostly done with them for now, so I will try for weekly updates. 
> 
> Also, this chapter's song is Twin Fantasy (Those Boys) by Car Seat Headrest. Thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Southern Sky by Alex G. Every chapter is going to connect to a song in some way, I already have a few planned out just because it helps me write. Also, this will probably be around 20k words by the time I'm done. I haven't attempted to write something this long in a good while, but I feel like it's still short enough to be concise. Thanks for reading!


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